Insomnia 2: The Reprisal
by tFantasyFan
Summary: Michelangelo's companion to Insomnia, complete with ceiling gremlins and bastardized Irony. Very minimal language.


_Thanks for joining me for what can or cannot be considered a companion piece to Insomnia (it is not necessary to read the afore-mentioned fic, but I know I would love you to)! Mucho mad props to my beta-reader, DisneyDelinquent, who took the time to actually look it over for me!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT. I wish I had some more original ideas for admitting it._

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He had, over the course of the past several hours, become quite certain that his ceiling was glaring at him in no less than the most malicious manner possible. It was not an idea that could be dissuaded by the mere fact that ceilings are, by and large, eyeless. If anything, it only served to heighten his suspicion to entirely new levels. Because while ceilings don't have eyes, there were any number of creatures that _did _have them, and the knowledge to use them.

Michelangelo could very clearly picture it in his mind's eye: hundreds- no, _thousands_- of beady little eyes, hidden in the darkness and peering out at him from vicious little faces. Waiting eagerly for the moment when he finally dozed off or closed his own eyes for just a second too long, preparing to attack at the slightest drop in attentiveness.

Exactly what the eyes belonged to, he couldn't say for sure. Their powers of concealment were certainly worthy of a little admiration. Maybe, if his ceiling didn't maul him ferociously or eat his face, he could get some pointers and master Splinter wouldn't find quite so much to critique during morning training. Of course, if some kind of twisted ninja-gremlins descended from his ceiling to train him in the way of stealth, chances were they would end up dragging him through some kind of mystical portal and into a centuries-old, prophesied, epic battle kind of thing.

And if _he _went, his brothers would have to go, too, because that was simply what they did.

From there, the four of them would get into some kind of pesky shenanigans and get even _more _wrapped up in the whole thing. Probably end up saving a galaxy or something of the like. They'd finish their mission and return to New York having narrowly avoided destruction, just in time to set yet another series of convoluted events into motion. And just when things had begun to settle down.

How disappointing: ceiling-eyes bringing about an end to his vacation from world-saving antics. It had taken forever to get things relatively calm. World-saving was the sort of profession that Mikey likened to the book 'If You Give A Moose A Muffin.' One small favor or mishap turning into an elaborate and illustrious affair that continued to snowball and cycle a million times over. Once in a while, he figured it was good to pull a Raph and just punch the moose's lights out before it could so much as glance at their muffin tray of heroic goodness. It brought about entirely too much trouble.

Which was why he was certainly against confronting his very menacing ceiling. It wasn't like he was _afraid _or anything. He was just too lazy to be bothered with epic adventures at the moment.

As though in challenge to his thoughts, a single ominous creak floated downward from the looming darkness, accompanying the conveniently timed passing of the subway overhead. Hearing the slight clatter that signified the shifting of various collectable action figures scattered about his room, he burrowed into his blankets a little more securely. In retrospect, maybe Leo was right: maybe the Monday Night Mind-Melting Monster Movie Marathon of Madness hadn't been such a good idea. The ceiling creaked again, sending a long sustained noise sputtering into his bedroom, bouncing off of the walls and echoing out into the silent lair.

Oh, come on. There was no way he was the only one being kept awake by this. Since when had ceiling-gremlins, or any other unknown creature for that matter, made the decision to pursue him and him alone? The whole followed-around-by-mysterious-critters-that-inadvertently-lead-to-adventures tactic was more up Leo's alley. Maybe even Donnie's, if the circumstances allowed for it. And Raph _did _go off alone a lot more than the rest of them. The odds of one of them falling head first into mischief were overwhelming. Leave it to one of his older brothers to drag weirdness home and dump the blame on him. Mikey scowled at the room in general, searching for movement amongst the sharp shadows cast off from his limited edition Silver Sentry signal night-light.

The youngest turtle could have slept without it if he'd wanted. As a ninja, he was trained to conceal himself in shadows. Throw in the fact that he'd grown up in the dark and dank sewers to begin with, and the need for a night-light wasn't apparent. In his opinion, it was more of a thing of principle. He could stick it out in the dark if he wanted, but if he _didn't _want to, then he wouldn't. And after seven hours of mind-altering horror films, he'd decided that he didn't want to.

Irony, which had been dozing idly in the nearby airspace and positively dying for a chance to see itself established, perked up at the decision. For reasons unknown, it had made it its own personal business to see the Hamato clan kicked while they were down, to see every inconvenience within its grasp thrown at them, and what kind of indefinable omnipotent force would it be if such an opportunity were passed up? With a yawn, it floated down towards the innocent lighting fixture, 'accidentally' knocking the bulb askew with an exaggerated stretch and sending the bedroom into pitch-darkness.

A surprisingly high-pitched squeak informed it of a job well done. Sighing contentedly, Irony wandered off to see to making a deal with Klunk to arrange for the convenient placing of a dead rodent at Master Splinter's feet.

Meanwhile, Michelangelo was making every effort possible to be absorbed into his mattress, eyes squeezing shut as he twisted his blankets around his body and over his head. If he were under the blankets, then he could pretend the light was still on and merely being blocked out by the thick comforter. After several minutes- upon noticing that he couldn't pretend adequately and that being enclosed in a blanket cocoon made it extraordinarily hard to breathe- forest-green face poked out from beneath its shelter, met with a rush of cool air.

The sounds of distant trickling emanating from various points in the sewers made him shudder. They lived in the place with _all _the horror-movie ambience, didn't they? Dark, damp, filled with groan-y trickling sounds and old boards, making noises in the middle of the night and messing with his head. He wondered briefly if Leo and Master Splinter had collaborated to find the place most likely to freak him out and then given him the noisiest room, but shoved the thought aside and labeled it as ridiculous. They wouldn't have done it without Don and Raph around to help pick it out, too. His family might argue that he'd picked his room on his own, but they were the masters of the Manipulate Mikey game. Stupid brothers. And they wondered why he left conveniently placed buckets of paint above their doors. He snickered into his pillow, going over his own sinister plans for the future.

Being plagued by ceiling-gremlins that his brothers had dragged home demanded retribution, in his opinion. Another series of rattling creaks bounced off of the cement walls, effectively bringing an end to his laughter. Mikey hunkered down into his blanket once more, fruitlessly straining to cast glances about the room. _Not scared, not scared, not scared- _the rattling grew a little louder as another train passed overhead. _I'm just being paranoid is all. _In the midst of a bout of restless shifting, Michelangelo froze, eyes widening to a size that could perhaps rival the tires of Raph's motorcycle.

_Okay, there's __**no way **__that just happened. I'm imagining things. _Slowly, deliberately, he stretched out one leg, shifting in his blankets. His breathing hitched momentarily in anticipation while he waited. Because Fate had a knack for messing with him, it saw fit to throw in its two-cents as well before meeting up with Irony later on. Just as he prepared to heave a sigh of relief and berate himself for overreacting, it happened again. Something shifted within his bedspread, brushed against his leg, and began creeping upwards.

If he'd moved any faster, there was a good chance he would have left a cartoon-quality cloud of smoke in his wake. Michelangelo shot through his bedroom door with all the speed he was known for, stumbling slightly upon his arrival in the hallway and barely keeping himself from tumbling down the stairs. Left behind was a spider that was understandably bewildered, having suddenly found itself to be on the floor. Operating on well-honed instinct, he righted his balance and changed direction, bursting through the familiar door of Raphael's bedroom and executing an impressive crash-landing on his brother's shell.

The larger turtle heaved upwards with a surprised grunt, throwing Mikey off with a well-placed elbow and lunging forward to grab his weapons of choice. After a minute's worth of grappling with one another (the definition of grappling being that Michelangelo spent his time dodging fists and pointy objects while Raph attempted to do away with him), Raphael seemed to take note of exactly who he was trying to spear and froze for a moment. Blinking the residual sleep out of his eyes, he replaced his sai, casually pushing Michelangelo to one side while he took a quick survey of his surroundings. Seeing a distinct lack of enemies, injuries and natural disasters, his gaze fell onto his little brother with no small amount of malice. Being a creature concerned with his own self-preservation, the youngest turtle snapped on his most winning smile from the bedroom floor.

"Hey, bro," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "What's up?"

Well, if it were possible for a glare to cause heads to explode, he'd probably be dead by now. In fact, he thought he could feel the pressure starting to build up in his skull already. Raph said nothing for several long moments, struggling to convey through expression alone exactly how painful he was picturing the other's death to be. When this method failed to prove effective, he spoke.

"You got ten seconds," the terse statement began, full of the warm fuzzy feelings that defined any relationship with Raphael, "before I pick m'sai back up." To drive the point home, his hand stretched ominously in the direction of the weapons. "I won't be countin' slow, Mike."

"Wait-a-second!" The youngest threw out quickly, hands up in surrender. After a moment of consideration, his face morphed to form the pitiful puppy-dog pout, complete with widened eyes and innocent blinks. It could be said that the puppy-dog eyes didn't work regularly on this particular sibling, but if memory served him correctly he'd seen a waver earlier that afternoon: a sure-fire sign that he had a shot. "I didn't come in to bug you, I swear, I just thought I'd drop by and maybe you'd let me sleep in here?"

"No. Go sleep in yer own room." So much for having a shot. Abandoning all pretenses of innocence and cuteness, Michelangelo frowned.

"Come _on_, Raph: just for tonight? You won't even know I'm here!" He pleaded obstinately.

"Uh-uh. Leo told ya not to watch them stupid movies; if you got nightmares, deal with 'em on your own this time."

"I'll have you know that my Monday Night Mind-Melting Monster Movie Marathon of Madness- or M.N.M.M.M.M.M.O.M if you find yourself pressed for time- was a work of sheer genius! I've seen those movies a million times, dude. No way they'd be enough to scare me," Michelangelo insisted firmly, almost imperceptibly shifting his gaze out of the direct line of questioning.

He wasn't lying. He totally wasn't. In a moment's time, he'd convinced himself well enough to look highly affronted at Raphael's disbelieving snort. Mikey crossed his arms, sitting up with a half-hearted glare.

"What? You think that's true or somethin'?" The older turtle seethed, considering the prospects of beating his brother with the conveniently close alarm clock. Maybe through the forcible instilling of a fear of the early hours of the morning, he could get his point through the idiot's skull. "You came runnin' in here in the middle of the night like a bat outta hell, Mike: if that ain't scared, I don't wanna see ya scared."

"Hey, _you're _the one dragging home stealthy ceiling-lurking gremlins from the streets! If _you _hadn't led them in, they wouldn't have nested in my ceiling, and I'd be snoozing away as we speak!" Raph straightened slightly, bringing up a hand to scratch at the corner of his eye.

"You- wait, gremlins? In your ceiling?" He asked, looking completely nonplussed. "What the hell, Mike?"

"Yeah bro, my _ceiling_. And my bed. Totally gremlin infested. I couldn't just stay in there and let them drag me off through some kind of weird dimensional portal thing!" Mikey pressed, flapping his arms dramatically. Raphael glanced at his clock again and sighed. Ceiling gremlins?

"Ya couldn't have just chose to go hang with Don or Leo?" He asked, his tone of voice classically long-suffering. The younger brother shrugged, eliciting another sigh. "Fine, whatever. Jus' for tonight. An' keep yer drool to yourself."

"Gotcha, Raph!" Mike chirped, hopping merrily onto the bed and snatching up half of the available blanket. In his mind, a miniature Mikey was doing a touchdown-worthy victory dance, complete with classic disco moves and a few gallons of sports drink. "You won't even know I'm here! I'm gonna be so quiet you'll have to check to make sure those gremlins didn't migrate to your room-"

"Good. Shut up 'n sleep."

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_Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Criticism? Review? Thanks for reading!_


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